


reunited

by lemonfizzies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Family Reunions, Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfizzies/pseuds/lemonfizzies
Summary: he missed them. they were more parents to him than his flesh and blood and he needs to find them, to see them, and to feel them again, together, all of them, even if it's been too long and they look so different





	reunited

the thing abt warlock is hes a diplomats son. he sees so many things. so many people with his father, on tv, in parades. crowley should have seen him first, you would think, because he watches so much tv. but he flicks thru channels too fast, click click click, and nothimg holds his attention. who knows how many times warlocks face has passed in a flash across his screen, across his life, and vanished  
but warlock sees him, just once. and how could he NOT recognize the person who kissed his scrapes and bruises, who murmured reassurance into his hair when mother was too busy rushing here and there and snapping at everyone who wasn't father (because no one was father. he had one, in theory; he knew the man existed, and sometimes they shared a meal at a table through a screen, with terse silence broken only by the scrape of silverware upon porcelain plates with a gold border)but he sees those sunglasses and the hair even though it's too short to match a halcyon memory. he sees nanny astoreth doing a very odd thing, a very rare thing -- she's smiling. and she's (he's?) sprawled out all over a café patio chair with feet kicked up on the table and SMILING so smugly at a flustered companion, a heavyset man with white curly hair and a reddening face. the man's hands flutter around her feet but don't push them, dont touch them, only shoo helplessly around and warlock is struck with the second sword of memory because those are the gardener's hands  
the gardener's hands which flitted, distressed, about the blossoms in that exact same way when they wilted in the beds, the hand which gestured so delicately towards brother squirrel and sister butterfly  
the hands which so often pressed and smoothed and fussed warlock's wrinkled clothes, his messy hair, his flyaway and upturned collars. the hand which tenderly and lovingly patted down soil around a seedling and which so, so rarely had fluttered around the sleeves of nanny's dress but never touched, never ever touched  
and warlock is drowning, here, in the streetcar, on the way to the library  
he is gasping for air and hanging half-out of the car and the passenger next to him is cross because doesnt he know he'll lose his head sticking it out inti traffic like that? but warlock is drowning in memory and doesnt need his head anyways  
he missed them. they were more parents to him than his flesh and blood and he needs to find them, to see them, and to feel them again, together, all of them, even if it's been too long and they look so different  
he fumbles outta that car and half chokes half shrieks, just like the excited little child he was, that they knew and that they loved, "NANNY—" and that's when crowley and aziraphale finally look over finally meet his eyes  
and they have a split second to watch a bus miraculously swerve and miss him by inches, swish the familiar locks of hair he'd never really end up cutting across the back of his neck yet leave him unharmed not a scratch on their boy  
so warlock is here and the bus swerved with the force of two instinctual miracles, both of them jumping up as warlock jumped out. and it is, again, an odd feeling. this should be occurring in a garden or on the estate, not on a busy sidewalk. warlock should not be taller then nanny. and, yet, it plays out all the same.  
"warlock, what on earth have i told you about looking both ways?!" crowley has his face held between both hands, gentle pressure, concern and relief etched into his face and overlapped in the furrows of his brow. warlock tries to answer, to emit more than a warbling, ragged gasp, but he has hardly taken a breath when she shifts her grip, pinches his ear as hard as she can and pulls, never too roughly, but enough to get the unspoken message across. Don't scare me like that, boy!  
aziraphale fusses, as he always does, brushing his hair and clothes as ever and as always. but he is changed, too, from the gentle gardener. a fire burns in him and he points a finger at warlock with a stern and agitated gaze, "that was completely unnecessary! you could have been killed, and what then? the first time we see you in a decade and you're splattered all over the street?"  
and then his face softens, slightly, seeing warlock's eyes full of tears. and he lets out a quiet, frustrated, "oh!" and presses his lips together.  
and gardener lays a gentle, gentle hand on nanny's shoulder, and she lets go of warlock's ear, and her eyes are brimming behind the sunglasses but crowley would never admit it  
or maybe he would, someday. but not now.  
and the peace that runs through crowley at aziraphale's touch is papable, and it rushes up into warlock, too, and out of warlock, it streams down his face in a waterfall of tears and sniffles and the two most important people in his life silently, wordlessly embrace him 

**Author's Note:**

> im capable of writing fluff with help apprently lol thanks bambs


End file.
